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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032177">If Grace Is Too Much</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolute/pseuds/resolute'>resolute</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Paladin's Grace - T. Kingfisher, Temple of the White Rat Universe - T. Kingfisher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Past Character Death, Past Child Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:28:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolute/pseuds/resolute</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Zale is given a case by Bishop Beartongue which turns out to be more complicated and personal than a holy advocate-priest would prefer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>If Grace Is Too Much</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/gifts">raven (singlecrow)</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I wouldn't do this to you, except I definitely would. I'm sorry."</p><p> </p><p>Zale blinked at Bishop Beartongue's flat declaration of non-apology. The bishop hovered in the doorway to Zale's office. Her hair was pulled back tight, her robes clean and pressed for the day ahead, and she carried a scroll in one hand. Yet the leader of Archenhold's Temple of the White Rat seemed … not grim, she was too affectless for that. Resigned? Possibly? To her fate?</p><p> </p><p><em> Which she is about to make MY fate, </em> thought Zale. <em> Thus is the life and duty of a sworn advocate-priest, I suppose. </em> </p><p> </p><p>They set down their mug of tea and looked attentively at their bishop. "I'm sure apologies will not be needed … ?"</p><p> </p><p>Beartongue did not wince, but her mouth twisted very briefly as if tasting something spoiled. "The details are here." She placed a scroll on Zale's desk. "It's the Denialist case."</p><p> </p><p>"The Denialists?" Zale sat up straighter in their chair. The Temple was rife with rumors and gossip about the, well, the Temple was officially not calling them a cult, that would give the group legitimacy and the council of temples and shrines would have to <em> do </em> something about them. Long-ignored, the Denialists were currently a strong presence in the city. Their insistence on repudiating all gods and saints was always ridiculous, but had recently become socially troubling. A number of the street-corner lecturers had been arrested yesterday for disturbing the peace. "Are we representing them in court?"</p><p> </p><p>"We are. Specifically, we have been requested as advocates for Hrotha Ursuline, their de facto leader." Beartongue opened her mouth to say more, closed it, and looked briefly … furtive? Zale did not think that could be the case. Their bishop was not the furtive sort.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll look over the case and meet our client this afternoon. Thank you for your confidence in me."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I had to throw someone to the wolves." Beartongue smiled. "You have the misfortune to have proven wolf-resistant in the past. Lucky you."</p><p> </p><p>"Lucky me," Zale replied, and opened the scroll.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The Archon's jail was familiar both <em> to </em> Zale and <em> with </em> Zale. "Good evening, Holy Advocate," Bessimir said as Zale approached the entry known as Pleader's Gate. The guard sat casually on a tall stool, his shield leaning against the wall behind him and his spear in the crook of his mail-clad arm. Zale had cultivated a professional friendship with Bessimir for years, now -- gifts to his husband and children on the holy days, a warm cider in cold weather, jars of warming cream in the rainy season. Bessimir returned the favor appropriately, tipping Zale off to instances of mistreatment of prisoners and giving them advance notice of court dates. Despite the arrangement, however, Zale could not convince Bessimir to call them anything other than Holy Advocate. Some legacy of the culture and language of wherever Bessimir had originally come from. Archenhold was not quite as cosmopolitan as Anuket City, but it did attract a certain number of people who did not want to stay where they were born.</p><p> </p><p>"It is rather fine, yes," Zale agreed. "How is Zadie's ankle?"</p><p> </p><p>Bessimir smiled. "Much better, thank you. The physician was correct, she just needed to stay off of it for a few days."</p><p> </p><p>"And no more jumping off of roofs when playing tag, I expect."</p><p> </p><p>"And no more jumping off of roofs," Bessimir said. "Who brings you to the Archon's jail tonight?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hrotha Ursaline," Zale said.</p><p> </p><p>Bessemer turned his head to one side and made a spitting noise. Zale raised an eyebrow. Bessimir frowned. "Denialists. They are bad luck, bad business, and bad people. It is a foolhardy pride to deny every god, all of them. It gets their attention."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Zale replied, "but they are still entitled to representation in court. "</p><p> </p><p>"Do you not worry that the White Rat will think you side with the Deniers? I would be worried."</p><p> </p><p>Zale shook their head. "No. Rat knows all the foibles and follies of people, living with us for so long. He is compassionate even to the most foolish among us. And it is my sworn oath to defend everyone in the Rat's name."</p><p> </p><p>Bessimir turned and unlocked the Pleader's Gate. "The Rat is your god, I suppose you know what is best. Good luck," the guard added as Zale walked past him and into the prison. "I hear Hrotha is a very clever fool."</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Zale followed the corridor guard to the holding cell halfway down the hall. They noted with a resigned anger the presence of one of the Mother's accuser-priests at the end, his cold voice not quite audible as he detailed crimes real and imaginary to a prisoner Zale could not see. Three prisoners occupied the middle cell. Zale stood at the viewing port and called in. "Ursuline? Hrotha Ursuline? Are you available to speak to your advocate?"</p><p> </p><p>"I suppose I can fit you into my schedule." The voice was older but firm, with more humor than Zale was accustomed to hearing in the Archon's jail. The speaker stood and came to the door. She had a roughly-cut shock of light brown hair going very grey and was shorter than Zale. Under her oversized and mended tunic she was either plump or stocky, it was difficult to discern. Her face was dirty, as was usual for prisoners, but Zale thought that the majority of the lines of age were attributable to humor and not spite. "Are you the advocate in question?"</p><p> </p><p>"Indeed, madam," Zale replied. They nodded to the guard who opened the cell door. "Advocate-Priest Zale, of the Temple of the White Rat."</p><p> </p><p>"Hm." Ursuline stepped through the doorway. Up close Zale's initial impressions of her were born out. Though she did, as was usual for prisoners, need a bath. She squinted at Zale. "You're not what I expected."</p><p> </p><p>"I shall endeavor to serve to the best of my ability," Zale answered. "There is a chamber in the upper hall for advocates to discuss cases with their clients. Shall we go there and you can tell me about your situation?"</p><p> </p><p>"Of course." Ursuline began walking in front of Zale, leading the way. <em> Ah, yes, </em> Zale thought. <em> Not the first arrest for Hrotha Ursuline. </em> "It's pretty straightforward," the woman said as they climbed the stairs. "I'm a heretic, I plead guilty, I should stand before the Archon and the Mother to be judged."</p><p> </p><p>Zale pushed open the door to the small room. It was clean and swept, and the guards kept the window shutters open to abate the odor of prisoners. The early winter sunlight was pale but welcome after the smoky dimness of the cells. "You admit guilt?"</p><p> </p><p>Ursuline sat in one of the wooden chairs. "I should think so. I stood on a wagon in Chandler's Lane and said that all the gods were fictions of human imagination, that we should devote the time spent in worship and placation to creating human systems for care and protection."</p><p> </p><p>Zale nodded. This was a common line of heresy. "And what of demons?"</p><p> </p><p>"Demons are nothing but physical processes as yet not understood by human exploration and endeavor," Ursuline replied promptly. "More metaphors which prevent us from coming to actual prevention and cure."</p><p> </p><p>"You do seem to be a heretic," Zale said with a small smile. "My question is, why declaim it in the street? Especially as the Archon favors the priests of the Mother?"</p><p> </p><p>Ursuline smiled broadly, leaning back in her chair. "Because my daughter stopped answering my letters, and I wanted to be sure to see her."</p><p> </p><p>This was <em> not </em> the answer Zale had been expecting. "I'm sorry … ?"</p><p> </p><p>"Decades ago I made a mistake. My daughter left, and has only spoken to me on rare occasion since then. She disapproves of my life and my choices, as I do of hers. Yet there are some things family must know, must endure together." Ursuline gestured at her lower belly. "I have the rot. My insides are eating me, growing abominations inside my body."</p><p> </p><p>Zale nodded in understanding. "I am very sorry to hear that. The Temple works with physicians, we may be able to ease your pain-- "</p><p> </p><p>Ursuline waved a hand to stop Zale's words. "I know many physicians, I have all the pain-draughts and tinctures I could need. What I do not have is conversation with my daughter. Words were said that need to be replaced with new words. I would repair the harms I have done before I die."</p><p> </p><p>"That is a commendable wish," Zale said. "But how does that bring you to heresy, and the Archon's prison?"</p><p> </p><p>"I needed my daughter to respond."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Zale said, with a feeling that they were missing something crucial to this conversation. "But how? Does this lead to you seeing your daughter?"</p><p> </p><p>Ursuline laughed. It was a merry laugh, warm and inviting, and Zale realized that despite prison and cancer, Hrotha Ursuline was a very charismatic person. "She didn't <em> tell </em> you. Hah!" Ursuline smiled at Zale, a broad, gleeful smile of joy in another's discomfort. "My daughter. Your bishop. She stopped answering my letters, I grew tired of the silence, and I knew this would get her attention."</p><p> </p><p>Zale blinked. "My bishop? Bishop … Beartongue?" <em> Oh, Blessed Rat. Beartongue. Ursuline. Blessed, Blessed Rat, it's even the same name. </em></p><p> </p><p>"Indeed. Rendel Cora Ursuline, Bishop Beartongue of the Temple of the White Rat." Her smile grew very wide. "My sweet little Rendy-Woo."</p><p> </p><p>Zale felt a chill. They were abruptly, remarkably, out of their depth.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Bishop Beartongue was working when Zale entered her office. She looked up, saw Zale's face, and had the decency to wince. "I should have told you."</p><p> </p><p>"You should have told me," Zale agreed blandly.</p><p> </p><p>"Was she impossible?"</p><p> </p><p>Zale sat down in the comfy chair to the side of the Bishop's desk. "I have no metric by which to parse that statement. Your <em> mother </em>," Zale made sure to emphasize the words, "was friendly and forthcoming, giving all the details of her crimes. She was also unrepentant, obstinate, and I suspect was delighting in my reaction every time she referred to you as 'Rendy-Woo'."</p><p> </p><p>Bishop Beartongue flinched.</p><p> </p><p>"She is dying," Zale said. They had thought hard about how to break this news to Beartongue and had decided that calm facts were best. "She has cancer in her gut and knows that death is not far away."</p><p> </p><p>Beartongue pressed her lips together and rubbed at her forehead. "Ah. I see." She looked at the lamp on her desk for a moment. "That explains why she is pusuing execution, I suppose."</p><p> </p><p>"That is <em> not </em> -- !" Zale realized their voice was raised and stopped. They held the bridge of their nose. "Your Most Holy Bishop of the Rat," they said flatly. "Your dying mother is in prison for heresy <em> not </em> because she seeks death, but because she wants to speak to you before she dies and she claims you refuse to talk to her or answer her letters. This does not match in character or creed the person I have come to know and respect as my bishop. May I get an explanation of what is <em> actually </em> occurring here?"</p><p> </p><p>Beartongue turned in her chair and leaned back, grabbing a glass bottle off the shelf behind her. She gestured for Zale to get glasses from a sideboard, and when they had done so, poured. The flickering color of the liquid told Zale that this was Anuket Uncanny, the <em> good </em> stuff. Beartongue picked up a glass and motioned for Zale to do the same. "I left home when I was fourteen," she began. "I had a calling that I had to answer. And I do mean there was no choice." Beartongue pursed her lips in memory. "I mean, rats would come to our house every night and fill my bedchamber. Rats on the bed, rats on the joists, rats on the doorsill, rats on the hearth. My sisters were very upset about it."</p><p> </p><p>Zale made a slight choking noise. "I imagine so, yes."</p><p> </p><p>"I told Hrotha I must go to the Temple of the White Rat. She disagreed, saying that we would simply get some poison from the miller and make sure to put it down in the house at night. I said the rats were messengers from the gods, she said they were vermin. You can imagine the arguments. Finally my younger sister helped plan my secret departure. I suspect just to get the rats to leave her alone."</p><p> </p><p>"Hrotha has always denied the gods?" Zale asked.</p><p> </p><p>"Not as such. I think that was the start of it," Beartongue said consideringly. "Her husband had just died -- not my father, our father had left a few years earlier to marry the miller, Hrotha remarried an older man with a desire for a large family -- and she was lonely. My eldest sister was away, wed, my brother had joined the scribner's guild and was living with his patron, my next oldest sister was about to marry, and then there was me and my youngest sister. I have long thought that she could not bear more loss, not at that time. She had always been practical, inclined to trust only that which she could see and touch and measure. But it grew … strange, after the rats began to visit me."</p><p> </p><p>"When did she take up with the Denialists?"</p><p> </p><p>Beartonuge snorted. "You have the wrong end of the rope. The Denialists took up with her. Or, rather, there was no such group, not as a group, until she began to, to <em> accrete </em> people around her. Like a geological formation."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, dear." Zale took a sip of the brandy. "She is quite charming."</p><p> </p><p>"Four husbands. Several lovers. Two successful businesses. Briefly the cheesemonger guild master for our region despite being a weaver."</p><p> </p><p>"And then she started a cult."</p><p> </p><p>"And then," Beartongue said, slouching in her chair for all the world like a mulish apprentice, "my mother started a cult."</p><p> </p><p>"Which she is using to clamor for your attention."<br/><br/></p><p>"If she wants my attention she can stop spitting on my life's work," Beartongue snapped in reply.</p><p> </p><p>Zale raised an eyebrow. "Is that what she is doing?"</p><p> </p><p>"Of course!" Beartongue waved her hands in frustration. "I wouldn't stay home and be a good daughter, and she goes and, and commits to founding an organization that just refutes every thing I do! She doesn't hold protests outside of scribe's shops to make my brother feel terrible, no, she denies the gods wholesale just to anger me! It's childish! It's foolhardy! She's just impossible!" Beartongue slapped her hands down on the desk.</p><p> </p><p>Zale leaned forward. Like all priests, Zale had been trained to use their voice as a tool. There was the whip-crack of the court advocate, slicing through argument to reveal truth. The firm guidance required to interview witnesses. The gentle leading of initial interviews. "Bishop," Zale said, in the inexorable tone of one who already knows the truth and merely requires you to admit it, "you are a woman grown, leader of a major temple, a force in international politics, with the ear of the Archon, rich in friends, lovers, and successes. Why will you not now go speak to your dying mother?"</p><p> </p><p>Beartongue stared at Zale. As Zale watched, the woman's expression changed from anger to confusion to sadness. "What if she's right," Beartongue said wearily.</p><p> </p><p>"Could you repeat that?"</p><p> </p><p>"What. If. She's. Right."</p><p> </p><p>"About which part? The non-existence of the divine, or you wasting your life?"</p><p> </p><p>"Either. Both." Beartongue sighed. "Me wasting my life."</p><p> </p><p>Zale stood. They leaned forward and rested their hand on Beartongue's shoulder. Zale squeezed, a gesture of commiseration. "You will find the answer to that question when the Rat welcomes you home. But until that happens, go see your mother. Give her a conversation before she dies." They straightened and turned to go. "Hrotha's choices are her own. Your choices are the ones you must live with."</p><p> </p><p>Zale closed the door to Beartongue's office behind them as they left. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Bessimir stood as Zale approached Pleader's Gate. "There's developments, Holy Advocate."</p><p> </p><p>Zale pushed their hood back, squinting slightly against the not-quite-rain. "Oh?"</p><p> </p><p>"Your client has another guest this morning."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh?" Zale repeated, and handed over a packet of roasted pine nuts, still warm from the vendor's cart.</p><p> </p><p>"My thanks, it's a damp chill today. And, yes, another of your temple arrived not a half candlemark back." Bessimir raised his eyebrows significantly. "Your bishop."</p><p> </p><p>"Ah." Zale chewed a few pine nuts. "Well. I expect it will be good for her." They sighed. "I'll head in and see if there's carnage, eh?"</p><p> </p><p>"Luck to you," Bessimir answered.</p><p> </p><p>The interior guard directed Zale to join their client in the petitioner's interview room up the stairs. Zale could hear raised voices as they neared the door. They stopped a few paces away to listen.</p><p> </p><p>"If you don't recant, I can't protect you!"</p><p> </p><p>That was clearly Beartongue.</p><p> </p><p>"As if I need your protection!"</p><p> </p><p>And that was Hrotha.</p><p> </p><p>"But you do," Beartongue shouted, "because you will be put to death without it!"</p><p> </p><p>"I will be put to death with your help, just a bit slower. And it's a fine sort of world where a mother needs to be protected by her child," Hrotha scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>"Blessed Rat help me, I am not a child!"</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause. When Hrotha spoke, her voice was lower. Zale stepped closer to the door to hear better. "When in your training do you become so holy that you no longer need the Rat's blessing?"</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>"When," she continued, "do you become so wise you do not need the Rat's wisdom? When are you so moral you no longer need forgiveness?"</p><p> </p><p>"That's not same," Beartongue replied.</p><p> </p><p>"It is."</p><p> </p><p>"The Rat needs my protection," Beartongue said. "I defend her temples, her priests, her people. It goes both ways. We serve each other in turn."</p><p> </p><p>"In turn. In turn, until one of you fails." Hrotha said quietly. "Do you remember the mill creek?"</p><p> </p><p>Zale blinked at the change of subject.</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"The mill creek."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I remember it, but what does that have to do with this?"</p><p> </p><p>"You were three years old when you fell in."</p><p> </p><p>"... What?" Zale could hear the puzzlement in Beartongue's voice.</p><p> </p><p>"You fell in the mill creek when you were three years old. You were caught under the wheel. You died."</p><p> </p><p>Zale jerked in surprise.</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"Trenton pulled you out from the mill pond with a long pole. You were cold and white and dead. I remember Trenton's oldest girl, Melise, was screaming and crying, but I was not. I could not believe that you were dead. I simply … did not believe it. My belief, my faith in the world, did not extend to your death."</p><p> </p><p>"Are you … are you certain this was not a, a dream … ?" Beartongue's voice was gentle, soft. Zale was grateful the door was not shut firmly.</p><p> </p><p>"And then the rats swarmed out of the mill," Hrotha said. "A flood of rats. Dozens. Possibly a hundred. The rats ran towards your body on the creek bank. I wasn't holding you. I should have been holding you, but I did not, because if I held your body you would actually be dead. If I felt your skin, you would actually be dead, and that couldn't be true, so I wasn't holding you. You lay on the bank like a rag doll dropped by a careless child, and the rats covered your body."</p><p> </p><p>"... Oh."</p><p> </p><p>"Melise stopped screaming. No one spoke. We could all hear the rustling of their tiny claws on your wet clothes. I dream that sound, sometimes. And then you coughed, and threw up, and then you breathed."</p><p> </p><p>Zale did not move.</p><p> </p><p>"And I was right. You were not dead."</p><p> </p><p>"The White Rat brought me back." Beartongue's voice held a tone of wonder. Of faith, Zale thought.</p><p> </p><p>"I <em> failed </em> you." Hrotha's words were a razor, a cut, a pain so sharp and cold that one fails to notice the mortal wound until strength falters.</p><p> </p><p>"Mother -- "</p><p> </p><p>"I took my eyes off you for a moment, I let you die. I swore then that I would never fail you again."</p><p> </p><p>"Mother, wait, listen -- "</p><p> </p><p>"But you <em> left </em> -- "</p><p> </p><p>"And now I am <em> dying </em>-- "</p><p> </p><p>Zale heard a noise of movement, of standing or sitting or something else, a sharp inhalation, and then voices too quiet to understand. Zale backed away from the door. What was left was nothing they needed to witness.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Zale passed the time with Bessimir at the Petitioner's Gate until Bishop Beartongue emerged from the prison. Beartongue did not look surprised to see Zale. Zale did not look too closely at Beartongue's face. The two fell into step as they walked back to the temple.</p><p> </p><p>"Is the Denialist case resolved?" Zale asked with what they hoped was professionalism.</p><p> </p><p>Beartongue snorted. "How much did you hear?"</p><p> </p><p>"The White Rat has favored you for your entire life," Zale replied. "This second life, I mean."</p><p> </p><p>"You heard the important bits."</p><p> </p><p>"I think so, yes. I'm sorry," Zale said. "I didn't want to interrupt if it would help the case, and then it got very strange and I didn't know <em> how </em> to interrupt."</p><p> </p><p>"I expect so, yes." Beartongue paused for a moment. "Hrotha Ursuline has recanted her heresy and been absolved by the Temple of the White Rat. She pleads guilty to minor civic charges of blocking a roadway and will pay the fine tomorrow when the bursar is present."</p><p> </p><p>"And she will go free?"</p><p> </p><p>"She will go free, for as long as that lasts." Beartongue smiled, a thin and angry narrowing of lips. "The Mother's priest was very upset to hear of this outcome. I made sure to tell him personally. I did not tell him that she is going to die soon regardless of his interference."</p><p> </p><p>"Bishop." Zale slowed, then stopped, and waited for Beartongue to turn to face them. "Are you … are you alright?"</p><p> </p><p>Beartongue sighed heavily. "Of course. Of course not. Certainly. Why wouldn't I be? How could I be? Can you be more specific?"</p><p> </p><p>Zale mentally thanked the years of advocate training they had undergone as a novice priest. They straightened, unconsciously shaking their sleeves into place over their wrists. "In the matter of Hrotha Ursuline versus the gods, the primary charge of heresy has been discarded. The following points remain to be resolved. First, is Bishop Beartongue now on speaking terms with her mother, the defendant. Second, how many lives does the bishop have? Third, what future concerns does the bishop hold regarding their god-touched nature? Fourth, has the bishop forgiven the defendant for her apparent disregard? Fifth, has the defendant forgiven the bishop for same?"</p><p> </p><p>Bishop Beartongue snorted. "You are incredibly disrespectful to your superiors and elders, and some of those questions are you being a busybody and interfering gossip."</p><p> </p><p>"And friend," Zale said, resuming their walk towards home. "Don't forget friend."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. And friend." Beartongue walked, thinking, until the pair were nearly at the temple doors. "It seems likely, I don't know, many, I think so but we'll see, and, yes, as long as I don't do it again."</p><p> </p><p>Zale frantically tried to recall what order they had asked the questions in.  "Ah. Good. Will you visit her more, now?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. For as long as she lives independently. Which will be quite a while considering the friends and relations that can care for her." Beartongue sighed. "I would like her to stay in the hospice of the Temple, when the end is near."</p><p> </p><p>"We cannot ask the gods for more than that," Zale said, holding the door for Beartongue.</p><p> </p><p>"No," the Bishop agreed. "I expect we can't." She looked down at the tile mosaic rat on the floor of the temple hall. "Not even from you."</p><p> </p><p>Zale followed their bishop in. The depiction of their god did not move, did not wink, did not twitch. Zale nodded to the image respectfully anyway. <em> My thanks to you, Blessed Rat. For this, and all the miracles of the day. </em></p>
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